


pairwise benediction

by chuchisushi



Series: the curving path [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, First Time, Frottage, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mild Banter, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, genji just has a dick in this one, rampant use of headcanons, robo vag, wireplay, yeah i know i'm disappointing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8644504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuchisushi/pseuds/chuchisushi
Summary: Small talks, upgrades, and delightedly giving each other hours of their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey, happy day of thanks everyone! i, uh, hope you have room for. dessert. so to speak. look, the universe conspired to get this up tonight, i swear,
> 
> many thanks go to the discord folks for making appreciative noises at the wip snips - it probably would not have gotten typed up as fast as it did otherwise - and many thanks (as always) to [jonphaedrus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/driftwoodq/profile) for betaing this mess for me. thanks for slaughtering my monster paragraphs, you jerk
> 
>  
> 
> a few notes: genji just has a dick in this fic, and zenyatta has both a penis and a vagina, but only in chapter 2. in chapter 1 he has nothing. this also takes place after all the events of "we slip back and to"

“Genji,” Zenyatta asks one morning within the confines of their quarters. “Do you desire to physically interface with me?”

Genji nearly chokes on his tea, almost fumbles his cup in his surprise (is reminded, so briefly, of an evening years before upon the eve of his departure when he’d confessed to Zenyatta and received a similar reaction). He hastily puts down his cup before it causes an accident, clears his throat, and asks, “Master?” just to be sure of what he’d heard.

“Genji,” Zenyatta repeats, and there is a hint of welcome, so welcome humor in the synthesized tone of his voice now. “Do you want to have sex with me?” A pause, then, “I am given to understand that it is something many humans enjoy and desire with individuals that they are romantically involved with.” Zenyatta watches him, curious, as Genji flushes coppery green, and then laughs gently. “I assume from your reaction that it _is_ something you want!”

Genji thinks helplessly for a moment about the idle hours he’d wasted in his youth falling in and out of the beds of others. “I – yes. I do. But I had not considered it something that should be brought up yet. Our relationship is still very new, and – ” The sentiment of wanting to do things _right_ catches in his throat, ridiculous and wholly human. He knows that there is no shame in error, could _never_ be shame in what they shared, and yet, “I did not know if you were ready. If it was… something you would desire. So I thought I would wait, until there was a better time, or some evidence…” He trails off as Zenyatta considers him expectantly, the orbs about his neck flipping in fond amusement end over end over end, and Genji falls silent as he replays his last words over in his head – then laughs helplessly.

“Ah. I suppose I have my proof,” Genji says, makes a raspy, pleased noise in the back of his throat when Zenyatta stands, crossing the room to settle like a bird alighting at Genji’s side. He wraps an arm about the other’s shoulders, presses a kiss to the side of Zenyatta’s cranial unit; Zenyatta hums at it briefly before the noise settles softer but more resonant between them, making the both of them thrum.

“It will be an interesting experience,” Zenyatta comments lightly. “And I am given to understand it is quite enjoyable for all involved if done properly.” There is a pause, then Zenyatta ventures, slightly more tentatively, “I am not built for pleasure. It will… take some time to procure the materials necessary. Even more for fabrication to complete. Are you content with waiting?”

“Are _you_?” Genji returns, honestly curious. “Did you research human-omnic intercourse?” A beat. “On… the internet?”

“I did not put any weight upon advice offered in the context of pure fetishization,” Zenyatta replies primly, which is a yes. “I asked Athena for assistance,” he admits after a second or two, and Genji tips his head back and tells the ceiling, “Athena, you _dog_.” There is something like the responding brush of amused female laughter against his comm receivers, there and gone again, and Genji knows he’s smiling like a fool even as he dares let his hand drift lower to rest upon the metal approximation of Zenyatta’s hip.

“Shall you educate me, then?” Genji asks, and he can’t keep the wicked playfulness out of his tone. “Sensei-once-more?” Zenyatta intakes air sharply, unnecessary, a gasp, as Genji’s fingers glide below the waistband of his tattered pants; Genji trails them over the metal of Zenyatta’s pelvis and between, into where the omnic’s limbs fit, tracing delicate and gentle over the bundled wires there.

Zenyatta huffs out his bellowsful of air, then shifts and says, “Not me. It will not be good for me yet, not until I am rewired.” Despite the cool logic in his words, Zenyatta’s voice quavers, shakes just slightly in time with his extremities when he shifts to touch the backs of the fingers of the hand closest to Genji to the other’s chest, the contact clicking slightly. “You, however…”

“Ah,” Genji says. There are a hundred other things they could be doing: kata, sparring, team drills, meditation, cleaning their little temporary base to bring it further up to code, and absolutely none of them are as appealing as the idea of whiling away the rest of the morning teaching Zenyatta the tenderest places of himself. The longing that settles in the pit of Genji’s belly is surprising in its abruptness; the desire that follows on its heels is far less so. “Perhaps on the futon,” Genji manages and rises alongside Zenyatta to reposition themselves on padded material.

His faceplate and visor and headpiece are already off, and Genji’s hands don’t hesitate as he hits the latches for his chestplate, the pieces releasing with a pneumatic hiss; there is a brief moment during which the side panels disengage from the interface nodes underneath them – before they retract underneath the white shell of the armor like a turtle retreating back into its shelter, arches like his serratus anterior folding up, neat. Midway down his left forearm, steam hisses as it’s released from under vacuum seal, nodes uncoupling, metal mesh retreating from what is left of his flesh arm. He is glad to have the use of the limb, even if it disappears underneath interfacing and scaffolding the higher up his arm one goes; most of the muscle has long since been abraded away, his bones salvaged and reinforced with titanium. There are replacements for what he had lost wrapped over them: artificial muscle fiber, nerves, and blood vessels to supply the living bone underneath, the ligaments of his hand and wrist. Genji reaches back over his left shoulder and detaches the plate there; the one on the right is affixed to the bracing that keeps his neck, skull, upper spine, shoulders, and collarbones in place, all of the latter too fragile now to be allowed unarmored. The action reveals the upper remnants of his green dragon’s tattoo, its colors lurid and strange now with the altered refractive index of his flesh.

He uncouples the mesh across his belly, his lower back, his left thigh, lines all his components up neat next to the futon, and then sits crosslegged, smiles at Zenyatta. “As bare as I can be,” he says to him, then watches with dark, hungry eyes as the other shifts to stand as well, shedding his pants and letting them fall to the floor.

“Will we have to find a good pair of sweats for you, Zenyatta?” Genji asks as he opens his arms, stabilizing and guiding the omnic down as he settles in Genji’s lap this time; Genji goes so far as to cup his flesh hand against the front of Zenyatta’s pelvic frame, its frontal counterbalancing arch imitating a human’s pubic mound. The metal underneath his scarred fingertips is cool at the surface but body warm only a little beneath, heated by some vital force beyond Genji’s understanding; Zenyatta makes a soft noise at the tenderness in the gesture, then a more exasperated one as Genji adds, “I imagine the construction in this area is going to be fairly extensive.”

“Smugness does not look well on you, my student,” Zenyatta reprimands, and Genji muffles a laugh into the other’s shoulder before setting to tracing the path of pistons and wire. Zenyatta clicks, whirrs, and the orbs that typically encircle him falter in midair where they orbit the both of them – falter, and then carefully lower to rest upon the floor. “The purpose of this was for _me_ to learn _you_ , Genji,” Zenyatta chastises.

Genji makes a thoughtful noise before replying, “I have an instruction manual that you may have a copy of, if you’d like.”

The lights on Zenyatta’s brow flare briefly brighter before the other reaches across the space between them to grasp Genji’s face in his hands, cupping his cheekbones tenderly – before giving the man’s head a gentle, reprimanding shake. “Cheeky,” Zenyatta says, “But I _would_ like a copy. For the future.”

Genji huffs, then tips his face back when Zenyatta’s fingers wander downwards, sliding over a reconstructed jawline, sinuses and oral cavity reshaped from pulp. Zenyatta taps a gentle finger at one of the metal interface nodes at the corner of Genji’s jaw, and Genji shivers at the sensation, the slight reverberations from the conductive contact rippling through his teeth and amplifying. “It is sensitive?” Zenyatta asks, strokes gently over it instead; Genji responds, “Yes,” then adds, “Places where the sensors feed their data back to me. They are not exactly like nerve clusters, but they _feel_.”

“Ah… I see,” Zenyatta replies, lingers for a second more, then continues downwards. If the omnic had had facial expressions, Genji thinks his lips would have been pursed in concentration; as it is, the lights of the sensor array on Zenyatta’s forehead pulse and dim to some unknown rhythm. Perhaps to the movement of the universe itself – who could say.

Zenyatta is careful, almost reverent, when he touches where vascularized polymer meets flesh, skimming a finger all across the edge of the synthetic gorget upon Genji’s shoulders, moving back up to touch where flexible material covers where it meets with Genji’s bevor, then down again to span the slope of Genji’s deltoids, brushing lightly against Genji’s prosthetic arm.

“I defended with my right side,” Genji says, half in explanation, half in confession. He has told so few people the details of the fight with his brother even after all these years. “With my blade. Reflex, even though I knew it wouldn’t be an adequate shield. The force chewed me up, crumpled bone in ways it was never meant to bend. Then the building fell on me.” Zenyatta’s hands don’t still, continue to wander, but Genji feels the line of the other’s spine stiffen underneath his hands. “Much of me was not salvageable by the time Overwatch dug me out. The flesh of my arm. Some of my internal organs. They might have had to leave my right leg in the rubble altogether; I don’t remember.”

“I am glad you do not,” Zenyatta says, docile voice fierce as he strokes hands down the span of Genji’s chest, sensors no-doubt picking up every unusual bump or scar in his flesh, every piece of evidence of drainage tubes or permanent stents or surgical scars that reveal where he’d been vivisected for repair, like a car on blocks, hood open as wide as the shattered arches of his ribs. Before, it would have made him angry – so angry, the memory of what Doctor Ziegler and Overwatch had done in exchange for his… assistance in bringing down the Shimada empire. Now, he just feels weary, and wondered sometimes if Jesse McCree had known anything, in his time in Blackwatch, of the organization’s plans to shadow the white sheep of a second son of the Shimada. Wondered, sometimes, if Blackwatch had precipitated the pressure the elders had put on Hanzo, raised the stakes and manipulated the situation until their only choices had been ‘bring the youngest son to heel’ or ‘face the fangs and claws of their enemies.’

“Genji,” Zenyatta says gently. “Your mind wanders. Come back to me.”

Genji jolts where he sits, instinctively loosens his hold that had been clutching the other’s broad hips to groaning; his eyes refocus upon Zenyatta and find the monk regarding him with a worried scrutiny.

“Ah – I am sorry, Master. My thoughts escaped.”

“Accepted.” Zenyatta hums and touches fingertips to the slope of Genji’s reconstructed cheekbone. “Shall we continue? Or do you require meditation? Perhaps more of your plates reconnected?”

Genji aches inside at the gentle concern in Zenyatta’s voice, shifts his hands higher to run along the lengths of the wires that line the other’s spine, and says, “No. That is not necessary. It has merely been a long while since I have been this exposed – the memories and quiet concerns flew free from entrapment when I put down my armor.” He leans in to press a kiss to Zenyatta’s mouthslit. “I am well. My heart settles. Thank you for calling out to me.”

Zenyatta hums, thoughtful, and considers Genji for several long seconds before saying, “You are very welcome,” and resuming the movement of his hands. When Zenyatta’s clever fingers pass over a nipple, Genji shivers; when he does so, Zenyatta pauses in consideration, then repeats the motion, categorizing the entirety of Genji’s response. When Zenyatta runs hands down the swells of Genji’s sides, metal clicking occasionally against metal as his palms meet coupling nodes, Genji arches and flexes. When Zenyatta follows the length of Genji’s left arm, tracing it back to where it rests on his spine, and takes Genji’s palm into hand, outlining the creases and scars there with a curious fingertip, Genji murmurs pleased, warm – and then whines in protest when Zenyatta eases himself out of Genji’s lap.

He falls silent quickly when the omnic tucks digits underneath the bends of Genji’s folded knees, Zenyatta tipping his head back to regard Genji even as he tugs. Genji lets his legs be spread and arranged to Zenyatta’s satisfaction, can feel himself flushing, his body temperature rising, as he watches Zenyatta settle himself between his thighs, the other airily dainty with an almost-innocent curiosity coloring his movements, and Genji _burns_ with want. He wants to see Zenyatta absolutely fall apart underneath the touch of his hands, his mouth, the blunt press of his cock, _longs_ to offer up this last inch of himself to the other, to give him any little, intimate secrets left that Zenyatta does not already own, wants Zenyatta to _know_ how Genji unravels at the seams when pinned down, the exact tenor of relief and desperation in his voice when he comes. It’s enough to make him shudder when Zenyatta runs curious fingers along the seam of where Genji’s leg meets his pelvis, enough to draw out his voice once more into words, Genji calling out, “Zenyatta,” in a lust-laden octave deeper than his norm. The spirit that makes his bones its home shivers and snaps its teeth, and it makes Genji bare his own, tug one of Zenyatta’s hands closer to rest his canines against the metal, bend the other’s wrist and delve into the newly-formed crevice with his tongue to nip at a wire within; his gaze never leaves Zenyatta’s throughout, and he murmurs a nothing noise in triumph when it makes the other _shake_.

“That dragon in you is impatient,” Zenyatta remarks, and his tone would be chastising if his hands hadn’t dropped to Genji’s pelvis; Genji laughs, because it’s true, and returns, “Not without good reason, however. Here, like this – ” lowers his as well and places them atop Zenyatta’s, guides the latter to the hidden catches to the panel that covers the entirety of Genji’s undercarriage, from the frontwards crest of his pubic mound to the point of his tailbone. Zenyatta depresses them, and Genji groans in relief when his cock unsheathes itself, not bobbing free so much as drawing itself out from someplace within. Zenyatta makes an intrigued noise at it, fingers hovering briefly before coming to settle on Genji’s mismatched hips, one flesh and bone, the other carbon fiber and polymer plastics.

“It’s mostly for show, now,” Genji remarks, and he’s glad he can laugh about the absurdity of it, after all these years. “I only need to extrude solid waste – too many organs replaced – like a bird. All the rest gets broken down and reused – like omnics, but less efficiently. Or so I’m told.” He grunts, then makes a soft noise of contentment when Zenyatta carefully wraps his hand around his silicone length, rubbing at it before he looks up towards Genji.

“May I?” Zenyatta asks, and Genji smiles, touched and warmer for it.

“Do as you will.” Both of them turn their gazes downwards, Genji’s cock flushed coppery against the chrome of Zenyatta’s fingers, and Zenyatta squeezes gently at first, then harder when Genji murmurs for more; his other hand comes up to touch against the stiffer, thin core shaft that lines the bottom of Genji’s penis in a firmer ridge, artificial nerves branching from it to permeate the material, and Genji moans; when Zenyatta rubs a smooth fingertip against the tiny orifice at its tip, Genji’s hips buck and his length twitches in Zenyatta’s hand in some flex-release of pressure that produces a bead of tacky liquid from it, colored a translucent green-blue.

“Turgor, I think – ” Genji is saying, voice low and raspier than ever in his arousal, “Internal lubricant due to be replaced, filled with end-of-lifecycle cyanolympth carriers – waste not, I suppose; I _had_ testicles, but they were even more for show than the cock; I understand the desire for one-to-one mapping with prostheses, but it was – ” and then Genji chokes his rambling off into absolute, aroused silence as he watches Zenyatta swipe up the bead of fluid from his cockhead and press the finger with it into his mouthslit.

“A waterbased lubricant? An unusual choice,” the other comments. “But the oxygen carrier is far more sophisticated than I would have expected. Well done!”

“ _Zenyatta_ ,” Genji grinds out, and the omnic titters even as he folds before the forward surge of Genji into him; he lets himself be knocked back onto the futon, wraps his arms about Genji’s shoulders, toys with the black strands of Genji’s hair, opens his legs to Genji’s hips, and lets the man rut against him, all silicone against polished steel.

“I tease you, my hope,” and Genji groans against the metal of Zenyatta’s chassis and says, “A fox spirit inhabiting the guise of a monk, I swear. No-one else believes me when I say you are a devious, wicked soul. Where is that interface wire? Plug it in; if I have to suffer you tweaking my nose, then you may as well experience it alongside me.”

“My, Genji, I did not realize that was a – hm, what is the word – ah yes. A _kink_ of yours,” Zenyatta returns, and then laughs gaily, accepting Genji’s exasperated rap against his chestplate as his due even as he untangles, unjacks, and unhouses the correct wire and spinal plate from himself and Genji; when he slides home in the correct port, Genji snarls into their network _Don’t you dare compartmentalize any of this_ before loosing the feeds from his own systems into Zenyatta’s.

They lose track of one another somewhere in between the point when Genji crests into orgasm and when its reflection rebounds into Zenyatta, overloading his processors – there is an internal activity spike: protocols stall to a standstill. Their fans kick into motion. Sensation blooms into feedback before collapsing underneath its own weight like a neutron star, left glowing and heavy and quiescent, singing to itself in choruses of white noise. The weight of a gold corona briefly presses heavy upon them. The rasp of emerald, viridian scales scrapes slowly, incrementally across metal.

 

Genji is plucked from their tie by teeth and the brush of whiskers against his nape; he sobs out a breath, somehow tender and aching in parts of himself that aren’t even _supposed_ to feel, and fumbles clumsily with too-thick fingers at his spine, finally catching against their connection jack and tugging it out. It aches, too, faintly bereft like being fucked well-used, and, below him, Zenyatta’s entire frame shudders. His lights are dim but not entirely out, and Genji has seen his former Master overexert himself enough times upon their journey that his most immediate concern becomes instead the shortness of his own breath; Genji levers himself carefully off of Zenyatta with a huff, sparing a second to indulge the brief twist of hunger low in his belly at the sight of Zenyatta’s chassis and pistons gleaming with spend, but moves to reach where he’s laid his armor.

He lies down again upon the futon, next to Zenyatta, with his faceplate reengaged, schools his breaths to steadiness as he inhales and exhales nanites and oxygen. He lays a hand upon Zenyatta’s form and feels the warmth permeating the entirety of it now, as though it were flesh, though the illusion is belayed by the minute vibrations of ticks and whirrs from within Zenyatta’s body. He waits, patient, as Zenyatta slowly wakes himself, his consciousness returning from whatever shelter it tucked itself into when the omnic was at repose; Zenyatta stirs sluggishly, movements slightly uncoordinated, and turns his cranial unit to the side.

“Genji?” he calls out, and Genji marvels a little at how the other’s voice warbles and wavers before stabilizing.

“I’m here, fūrin,” he replies, gently drums his fingers against the warmth of Zenyatta’s chestplate. The lights in the array on the other’s forehead dim briefly before flaring bright once, twice, and Genji sees the faint pass of some internal, perhaps infrared sight swivel to bear through the slits in Zenyatta’s faceplate before their twin lights blink out, the array on the monk’s forehead blooming into full life with it.

“Genji,” Zenyatta repeats, and Genji hums fondly in reply. “That was… very intense. I have some lost time in my logs.” His fingers twitch before his hand lifts to touch at the mess still slick on his thighs and abdomen. “Ah… you – reached completion? Yes, I do… recall…” and then his voice trails off distracted as his fingers work circles, trailing through the fluid before his movements start to drag the slick piecemeal into the crevices of himself, integrating it in.

Genji swallows as he watches, possessiveness kindling in him, but feels obligated to ask, “Is that a good idea?”

“It is due for replacement, you stated?” and there is an almost dreamy tone to Zenyatta’s voice, something not quite meditative, far more basal and satisfied instead. At Genji’s affirmative, he continues: “It is loaded with trace metals and minerals. Particulates and precipitate. Suspended too small to do abrasive damage, but – ” He sighs shakily as his fingers delve between the wires and plates of his pelvis, petting, stroking smooth. “Mmm… toxic to the organic components of yourself, I would presume. Too small to filter or be processed by your nanites, but, as you said, the systems of omnics are more efficient. I, ah – can make use of this.” Genji licks his lips behind his faceplate as Zenyatta’s lights flare briefly brighter, pulse at that peak, and then dim once more back to their typical luminosity; he wraps arms about the other and hums as Zenyatta slowly, delicately, untangles fingers from the components of himself, touches lingeringly at his own wires, and then places his hands back upon Genji.

“I apologize,” Zenyatta says. “My processes are curiously sluggish. Too much new sensory data, perhaps.”

Genji chuckles and returns, “Then please rest. I have nothing else to add save the beginnings of a salacious joke about my cum being good for you,” laughing when Zenyatta flicks at the flesh of his belly in reprimand.

“If I am wicked, then you are a boor,” Zenyatta returns dryly. He sighs even though he has no need for air and settles down in the circle of Genji’s arms. “Do wake me if we are needed,” he instructs.

Genji replies, “Yes. Of course,” smiling fondly, and returns to humming soft as the other slips into slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

Zenyatta is unsure what Genji’s reaction will be.

There are no mirrors uncracked in the temporary space Overwatch is using, and, even if there had not been, there are certainly none long enough to show Zenyatta what he looks like to his satisfaction. He knows his own curiosity and the trepidation interwoven with it are not because he truly desires to evaluate his own aesthetics – his want is tangled up in Genji’s want and how he wants what Genji wants alongside his own curiosity about the unfamiliar _biology_ of physical desire and release.

The fabrication is complete. His new augments have been installed and appear to be working as appropriate, as they should, but Zenyatta admits he had not manually tested the upper bounds of his manufactured genitalia; the sensations had been – too strange, too foreign, too unlike the soft highs he’d drugged his processors on before with his fingers in his wires and Genji in his thoughts. Zenyatta runs diagnostics upon his augments once more. He knows that if one perused his logs that one would find that it is the fifth time he has done so in the past seven hours. It is irrational, this worry – but it lingers even though he knows it will be resolved very soon, one way or another.

He runs diagnostics on _himself_ for the third time in the past seven hours. Both evaluations come back clear of any anomalies. Zenyatta huffs out a breath he does not need and seats himself upon the futon, quiets his mind and attempts to meditate. Genji is on a recon mission. Nothing is expected to go wrong. Zenyatta knows Genji has completed far more strenuous objectives with higher stakes under more stringent requirements, but he wishes, selfishly, that _someone else_ was there out there today so he could have Genji _here_ with him, right _now._

He picks the thought apart, reduces it to its most-basic components, and files each away. Another hour passes. He is about to turn to the major source of his discontent when he is forestalled by the click-swish of the door engaging, sliding back to allow in the harsh fluorescents of the hall.

“Zenyatta? Did you not turn on the lights?” and all of Zenyatta’s sensors flare into life at the familiar voice.

Genji closes the door behind him and pauses to balance on first one foot, then the other, disengaging the mechanical soles that allowed him, alongside his lifetime of training, to scale walls and mildly defy physics. He sets them aside, leans his nodachi against the wall further in their quarters, and carries his wakizashi with him as he hits the light switch, crossing the room to where Zenyatta is rising to meet him.

“Genji! You are unhurt? And have reported to Winston?” Genji sets the short blade down on the table, catches Zenyatta about the upper arms, and spends a moment scrutinizing him closely from behind his visor; Zenyatta resists the urge to squirm under the look, orbs bobbling nervously midair instead.

“I am whole, and yes, Winston has my report,” Genji says slowly. “Zenyatta, is everything well? You are, ah…” He pauses, tracking the uneven flight of one of the orbs. “… Perhaps a bit unsettled. Are you alright? Did something ha – ”

“Fabrication and installation are complete,” Zenyatta blurts entirely ungracefully, and Genji bites himself off midword as he processes.

“… oh.” Then, with a hint of a mischievous grin in his voice, “ _Oh_.” Genji shifts closer, slides his arms up to drape over the other’s shoulders, and all but purrs, “Zenyatta-kun… have you been sitting here in the dark waiting for me? Trying to meditate away the hours – when did it complete?”

Zenyatta fumbles for a few seconds before resting his hands on Genji’s hips. “Since eighteen hundred,” he admits, and Genji sucks in a breath through his teeth at that, body language instantly softening and folding towards Zenyatta.

“Oh, fūrin, you’ve been waiting all this time? You could have pinged me; I would have hurried back.”

“And have possibly endangered you? Waiting three hours more would have been easier upon my circuits.” Zenyatta watches Genji extricate himself to remove his headpiece.

“Have more faith in my abilities; you bruise my delicate ego,” Genji returns, then pauses as he touches the catches for his chestplate. “I haven’t cleaned up. Will that – ”

Zenyatta tilts his head. “I am given to understand that the process of sex isn’t precisely a _neat_ activity. Wouldn’t it be more expedient to clean ourselves after?”

Genji laughs and replies, “True enough. Let me see, then?” shedding armor plating as he gently herds Zenyatta towards the futon; Zenyatta only manages to not trip over himself, fabric, or Genji by virtue of his anti-grav repulsors, but he does manage to get his pants off and onto the floor. Genji makes a rapturous noise and drops to his knees on the padding, fingers working at the last bits of his shell, which he sets aside to leave himself bare. Zenyatta is too distracted by his focus upon the lines and curves of Genji’s form – so beloved to him for the soul it houses – that he fails to notice Genji’s focus upon _him_ until the man glances up from where he’s knelt at Zenyatta’s feet to ask, “I’d like to taste you.”

“Ah – ” Zenyatta falters, because somehow he had entirely not considered the possibility of Genji being _willing_ to use his mouth on him, falters and entirely fumbles his grasp on his orbs in the process, each thudding unceremoniously, abruptly to the futon as they fall like stones from their wavering paths. There is a pause.

Genji’s face creases, a grin he can’t hide breaking out over his scarred features, and he makes a thoroughly undignified choking noise as he smothers a laugh, tipping forward to press his face against Zenyatta’s thighs; Zenyatta covers his face with his hands and manages, “ _Yes_ ,” with his voicebox full of static in his embarrassment.

“ _God_ , I’m sorry Zenyatta, that was just – you are so _precious_.” He glances up at him, face bright with mirth. “So I suppose the student becomes the master now, hm?” Gaze still locked with Zenyatta’s, he slowly opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the soft silicon nub set against Zenyatta’s pelvic cradle, suckling on it as he watches the other’s reactions intently; Zenyatta moans, this sound static-riddled as well, tentatively rests a hand on Genji’s hair and widens his stance when Genji nudges gently at his legs. Genji moves further in, lapping at the silicon plushness he finds between them, using one hand to rub teasingly gentle fingertips at where he’d licked, the other going to Zenyatta’s hip to hold him steady when he wobbles.

“Careful, fūrin. Don’t want you breaking,” he says, and then presses one of his hands to Zenyatta’s on his head, expression all open surprise. “Zenyatta? Are you _sure_ you’re well? You’re shaking already.”

“It – ” Zenyatta begins, voice billowing loud before popping, snapping with audio feedback and contracting back to an easier volume. “ – it is so _much_ already – ” and Genji is standing and taking ahold of both his elbows and gently easing them both down to the futon; Zenyatta goes willingly, shivering, unstable and unsure how to ease the imbalance but _needing_ Genji’s touch, clutching at him. Genji stretches out beside him, strokes gently over the line of Zenyatta’s jaw, plays fingertips over the pistons in Zenyatta’s neck, and murmurs, “Easy, Zenyatta; I’m here. God, you’re so sensitive – did you rework _everything_?” Zenyatta quivers, metal clicking against metal, when Genji’s flesh fingers skim over a new node; Genji pauses at it, lets his hand drift back up, and pets stroking this time, his eyes falling to half-mast. “You _did_. Zenyatta, where did you even _find_ these schematics – ”

“Athena helped. They were reviewed quite favorably by omnic communities; it – ” He makes a little strangled noise of surprise when Genji shifts, sitting up enough to run his tongue over the cluster of sensors, and Zenyatta registers _warm-slick-soft-so soft_ and rattles out a static-blurred noise at it.

“You don’t have anything to compare it against, do you? So it’s all so new that you don’t know where to start?” Genji asks, skimming one hand down gently to pull at one of Zenyatta’s legs, hooking it over his hip to bare the other to him; he lets his knuckles drag against Zenyatta’s silicon augments, shifts to press their hips together. “Did you build yourself a cock as well? Or just the pussy?”

“Bo – th – ah! Genji, _please_ – don’t tease me – ”

“I won’t, I won’t – let’s just focus on this part tonight, then; I don’t think you’ll need more than that,” and Genji rubs fingers against the outer silicon folds of Zenyatta’s new augments before tentatively, curiously sliding a fingertip between them, pad against the inner side of the material, nonpenetrative; he traces the bounds of it, up and then back down, and makes a small, aroused noise. “It’s so warm. Almost like its biological counterpart,” and Zenyatta shivers as something clicks in his abdomen, a little hiss of depressurization. Genji makes a rapturous sound of appreciation when he passes his fingers over Zenyatta’s opening. “And you even get wet for me? Fūrin, you are a _gift_ , truly.”

“More appropriate thanks s-should be given to the engineers and progra – ” Zenyatta starts before he says, “ _Ah_!?” in the middle of the statement as Genji pushes a digit into him; Zenyatta’s voice catches on nothing, electricity and stifled, slowed processes blooming in slow motion along his wires as power goes _elsewhere_ ; he can feel himself dilate in response to Genji’s intrusion, the way the silicon and wire mesh give before clamping back down; and the sensations are so simultaneously delicious and foreign that Zenyatta grabs instinctively for the other man to find something to anchor himself with.

Protocols rerank themselves. Priority levels are reassigned. Zenyatta’s system reorganizes itself to compensate, acclimate, to this new source of service requests, responses, data, and he _gasps_ with it even though he does not need air; the thought that _this_ , that _all_ of these changes had been made for Genji and logged as such in pursuit of their mutual pleasure crosses his primary processor and makes him _shake_.

Genji presses lips against him and hums where he’s touched against the outside edge of Zenyatta’s cranial array, the man’s imitation of an omnic kiss, all resonance against his own teeth and the metal that makes up Zenyatta, and Zenyatta doesn’t know what to do with his _hands_ , almost frantic as he runs them up and down the length of Genji’s bare back, against the ventral edges of where his cybernetics meet his skin, up his arms and along his shoulders. “Genji, Genji,” he pleads, though for what he doesn’t know, and Genji hums and murmurs, “Yes,” softly, sweetly in reply. He pushes his way into the vulnerable hollow underneath Zenyatta’s chin, insistent even in his kindness, and Zenyatta tips his cranial unit back and _gives_. “Genji,” he repeats, ensnared, and Genji hums in nonverbal response against the black inner body of Zenyatta’s chassis, what wires that are exposed against it, and the metal flex and give of the pistons that act like tendons. Zenyatta rattles with it somewhere inside his mechanisms, the vibrations trembling across a soft wealth of sensors, and he groans a plea for something like mercy even as his fingertips press against the edges of Genji’s shoulderblades.

Genji opens his mouth and breathes hot and muggy against the chrome before closing teeth against the metal, scraping his canines down; he presses even closer after to bite at the snaking path of a wire, tugging gently at its anchors even as he tucks another finger into Zenyatta, pulls back just far enough to murmur, “You take me so beautifully, fūrin,” with his lips and breath close enough to brush against the parts of the other he’d been tasting.

“G – enji,” Zenyatta stammers, spine arching helplessly to stimulate more of the new nodes that Genji’s hands are calling into life, and his voice breaks in the middle of the other’s name, white noise and interrupted electrical pathways. Genji croons at him, all wordless comforting nonsense, and curls up one arm to tuck it underneath Zenyatta’s cranial unit, threads the fingers of that hand into the bundles of wires caged close to Zenyatta’s chassis by the false spinal processes that trip down his back. Zenyatta lets go – he _has_ to let go; he is afraid that he will hurt Genji, as lost in his ardor as he is – presses balled fists to his back instead of clutching hands, and the metal of the servos in his fingers groans in protest, one more set of warnings dismissed to cascade back into only the sight of the way Genji is _looking_ at him, his dark eyes burning alight and devouring every detail.

Zenyatta is dizzy with it: with the persistent, pleasurable tug-pull of Genji’s fingers in his wires shifting to and fro tiny unnameable components of himself kept tucked away inside; with the way Zenyatta takes in air, his readings coming back laden with human pheromones, chemical markers of Genji’s arousal; with the way Genji hums and croons, “Zenyatta, Zenyatta,” all ravaged vibrations so close; with the way the other shifts, push-pulling his fingers in him, dragging at his inner walls. Zenyatta _shakes_ , motor processes utterly fried, blitzed into dormancy by the enormity of his pleasure; Genji scissors his fingers in him, spreading him wider and there’s barely any resistance, the sensations all trembling hunger and flexing emptiness and desperate, desperate need as Zenyatta gives and gives and _gives_ until he peaks –

Genji pulls out, and it leaves Zenyatta trembling on some vicious knife’s edge, bereft and gasping with it; Genji holds him close and presses lips to what of Zenyatta he can reach and murmurs endearments to the other even as Zenyatta futilely shifts, body flexing against Genji’s.

“There there, fūrin, just give it a bit longer – I know, just a little more to cool down,” Genji is saying, and Zenyatta shudders hard enough to rattle his own joints when he finally gathers enough processing power to parse more than just the man’s tone.

“I – Gen- ji,” he hitches out, and the sound of his static-broken voice bleeds into the hiss of steam releasing from his dorsal vents. Genji exhales, smiles tenderly at Zenyatta, and reaches out to smudge fingerprints against the metal of the other’s cranial unit.

“There we go. Just a little more waiting, until I’m not likely to scald myself.” He laughs, follows the path of his fingers with his mouth, hands roaming, petting and stroking. “Bump those maintenance protocols up a bit in priority for me, Zenyatta?”

Zenyatta musters the will to open one hand, metal creaking, runs it clumsily across Genji’s hair, makes a startled sound when Genji grasps his wrist, brings it down to his mouth to kiss as well. “Gen...ji – you are? Unhurt?”

“Yeah. I’m good, fūrin. Don’t worry – just wanted us to catch our breath.” He loops Zenyatta’s arm back over his shoulder, shifts just far enough to slide a hand between them; there’s a muted click, and Genji groans low and soft in relief. Zenyatta keens, pulls the other closer; he knows what that sound means, _wants_ it, flexes his spine and cants his hips down towards Genji – who is smiling at him with a mischievous, crooked quirk to his lips.

“Something the matter, Zenyatta?” he asks teasingly, rubbing the crown of his cock against the other’s wet folds.

Zenyatta whines, desperately trying to catch Genji’s length to fill the empty hunger inside him: “Genji – _please_ – do not tease me; I _need_ – ” and the man has the nerve to laugh fondly before returning, “Yes. I love you, Zenyatta,” as he pushes into him.

Zenyatta’s fingers scrabble against metal plates, lost and seeking purchase on something, _anything_ , as his fans kick into their highest rpm; he cries out, startled, rapturous, even as his systems labor; he can _feel_ the way his silicon gives way for Genji, the way his folds and clit swell with suspension fluid into plush, open softness as Genji pushes his way in to the hilt; and he barely registers when Genji tips him over onto his back on the futon. There are metal fingers interlaced with Zenyatta’s own and he clutches at them desperately. One of the new sensory nodes along his neck registers _soft-wet-heat_ , and Zenyatta tips his cranial unit back to accommodate the way Genji is laving his tongue over him. “ _Genji_ ,” he pleads, but it comes out all trills and pops, voice processor overloaded, and above him Genji murmurs, “Zenyatta,” sweetly in answer.

He thrusts and Zenyatta _wails_ , the sound warbling high as Genji’s cock drags all at his insides, Zenyatta’s cunt clasping at him as if to beg him to _stay_ ; Zenyatta finds he has looped his ankles at the small of Genji’s back somehow, the commands for the action lost somewhere in the cascade of information streaming into his logs, and Zenyatta uses the leverage to pull Genji _back_ to him, wanting him close.

Genji makes a breathless little huff in return, grinning broadly enough now to show off all his dragon-sharp teeth, and goes willingly enough, thrusting back in and falling into a pace that pushes him in down to the root and draws him out almost to the tip. Zenyatta registers heat and pleasure-signals singing down his wires, electric to a pulse he does not have, aligned in conjunction instead with the movements of Genji’s hips. He arches, because he wants _more_ of it, wants that unknown, cutting edge that he had hovered upon but not tipped over, and the heat in his abdomen is humid enough from beading liquid coolant for his signals to cross, each hiss-click of depressurizing lubricant an aching in his clit, each jostle of Genji’s hips meeting his refracting pleasure against the seams of his pelvis and the components of the cock still folded away in him. Zenyatta stokes that warmth in him like a furnace, hissing white noise like a kettle, and above him Genji’s eyelids have lowered to half-mast, pupils darting from feature to feature on Zenyatta’s body, drinking him in as he thrusts. He leans down and in to press a kiss to the sensory array on Zenyatta’s head, and Zenyatta squeals like microphone feedback for the way his Iris-sight is suddenly filled with harmonic gold and for the way Genji angling his body just _so_ digs the smooth ridges of his groin plating into the swollen nub of Zenyatta’s clit.

“Holy shit,” Genji breathes, delight audible. “Like that, huh? Okay, I – _nf_ – I can work with that,” and suits actions to words as his next kiss lands open-mouthed on Zenyatta’s array.

The other stutters, rattling with it, sensor lights flickering underneath the intimate touch, and all his wires are singing and his components throb with sensation in ways that they were never intended to and Zenyatta’s frame is metal and plastic and alloys but he feels as though he is going to melt – going to _ignite_ – underneath Genji right here right now and Genji fucks in as deep as he can, filling up every iota of the space in Zenyatta meant for him and jostles them closer, grinding in against his silicon even as he laves with the flat of his tongue, sucks against the inlay of Zenyatta’s sensors; Zenyatta is close enough to feel the way the man’s sweat beads, close enough to parse the chemical composition of Genji’s personal scent with every unnecessary intake of air, close enough to hear the way Genji groans with his, _their_ , pleasure, and Zenyatta can almost feel the way the universe sings about them almost like transcending and – and –

– and Genji _hums_ , resonant and pooling across Zenyatta’s most-sensitive array and it – it – it – it –

 

The edge bites into him. It cuts deep, impaling, suspending, and Zenyatta _quakes_ with it, utterly undone; it is so _much_ – it is _too_ much – He has nothing left free of himself to devote to it and it crystallizes him for it, he and all his processes trapped in amber at an electric, golden peak that spears him and goes on and on and on and _on_ –

 

His processes die a hundred little deaths, culled by that sharp blade and emergency protocols. Others crash outright at the lack of adequate processing power, smothered. His vents hiss air. His fans stutter back into life. Everything is black and gold – his optics have been killed, but his array is still functioning. His servos still have enough strength to weakly grip the hand Genji has threaded with his – Genji’s other is at the small of the omnic’s back, holding him up to thrust into him, support for Zenyatta’s slack legs. Zenyatta’s cunt clenches, flutters slick-wet against Genji, and each time Genji fucks in it interrupts, restarts calibrations, makes it contract in uncoordinated disarray and sets starburst nova alight in Zenyatta’s processors. Zenyatta _feels_ , sparks with each thrust like aftershocks even as Genji’s rhythm falls irregular; the man is gasping now, caught in a desperation of his own, and enough of Zenyatta’s other software has failed for his voicebox protocol to be able to thrum, “Gen… ji…” sound reverberating down through the length of his core.

Genji bares his teeth and _snarls_ , inhuman and too-resonant even for the processing of his artificial voicebox; his eyes are wide and viridian sparks in the depths of them even as his hips fuck in and close and rock in Zenyatta all as he comes. It is good, still good, _so_ good, and Zenyatta chimes with it even as Genji falls back onto his heels and drags him closer, fully into his lap. The other hunches shoulders over him like he’s mantling, bristling; Zenyatta rings like temple bells and watches the emerald energy of Genji’s birthright swim underneath the man’s skin all scales and claws and flashing fangs and moans as he feels Genji empty slick-hot into him.

Slowly, slowly, Genji unfolds, shifts them little by little until he’s sprawled out atop Zenyatta, between the other’s splayed legs. Zenyatta spares a brief thought towards reclaiming control over those errant limbs before discarding the idea as Genji vents steam from his shoulders and along his spine. Instead, Zenyatta reaches out with his network, reclaims his orbs, collects all but a few at the head of the futon and fetches Genji’s faceplate with those left. It is a clumsy, jerky process, but everything arrives intact, and Genji makes a thankful noise for it before kissing the point of Zenyatta’s chin and sitting up to click the half-mask into place.

The movement shifts Genji where he is still hard enough to stay within him, and Zenyatta moans with it, electric pleasure slipping down abused wires. It makes Genji pause, stroke fingers at the crease of where Zenyatta’s legs meet the flare of his pelvis, metal and flesh slipping into the gaps to pet at what he can reach inside. He makes a low, amazed sound, starts rocking his hips gently, just the push-pull of a few millimeters at a time, and asks, “Zenyatta? Do you want another?” all soft curiosity. Zenyatta makes a blurred noise in response to it, the sound hitching when Genji tugs at a bundle of wires that makes Zenyatta’s cunt spasm involuntarily around the other, but replies, “No – yes – I – I am… unsure.” Then, “Can you – ”

“Likely. Give it a bit. I’m not as young as I used to be,” Genji returns lightly, then pushes his fingers deeper. “Tell me to stop if it tips over into bad,” and Zenyatta trembles, array flickering, and returns, “Y-yes – ”

Genji fucks him close and slow, a rolling of his hips like the inevitability of the tide with just the give and take of a few inches; one hand, the metal hand, remains buried in Zenyatta’s wires, the other shifting over to lingeringly stroke at where Genji is sliding into him, toying with Zenyatta’s clit. It's easier for Zenyatta this second time, sensors already alert and primed for input, and Genji’s attentions bring him to a shuddering peak, Zenyatta calling out the other's name throughout it. Genji is enough recovered by the end to hiss in pleasure at the rippling pull of Zenyatta’s orgasm around him, withdraws from the silicon warmth to bring himself off with his hand. The flickering embers of Zenyatta’s need flare into brief life watching him do so, and the man has caught his breath enough by the time he comes to discard his faceplate. Genji gets him off the last time with three fingers pushed into him, his mouth pressed against his folds, and Zenyatta is so sensitive by the end that even the barest exhale against him is enough to send him quivering anew.

 

It is good. It is still good. It is enough.

 

Genji settles next to him, languid and well-sated after, his faceplate set on the floor next to the neat cluster of Zenyatta’s orbs, and curls close, one of his hands errantly wandering across the other’s body as if he cannot bear to not have the contact. Zenyatta can appreciate the sentiment – he feels tender, flayed bare like a stripped wire, and there is an ache in his chest magnified a thousandfold now that misses Genji when he is not close enough to touch. It throbs like an old wound, but the hurt of it is clean. Zenyatta shifts, finally reclaims the motor functions of his legs enough to close them, and shifts upon the futon to touch knuckles gently to the hollow of Genji’s collarbone.

“Thank you,” he says, solemnly mischievous. “That was quite the edifying lesson, sensei,” and Genji laughs at Zenyatta’s teasing words and replies, “Then perhaps the one that utilizes your cock will be _enlightening_. We cannot have you growing complacent now.”

Zenyatta hums, two amused notes, and simply returns, “Quite.” His processes are in absolute disarray and he has used enough energy to require recharging; he is sore – a sensation that is certainly novel, if mildly unpleasant – and his logs will need to be examined for debugging; he and Genji are both slick in too many places with lubricant and beading water; but it was worth it. Well worth it. More than so.

Zenyatta shifts to press his mouthslit to Genji’s forehead, too tired and wary of his rattled wires to thrum. Genji kisses him back, chaste and gentle. “Love you, Zenyatta,” he says once more.

Zenyatta replies, golden warm, “And I you as well, Genji. We walk together in harmony,” and to this Genji replies simply, “Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, after several requests and some inspiration and lots and lots of time, here's the third chapter of this increasingly self-indulgent fic. takes place after the previous two, at some undefined period after. no betas, we die like men.

Requisite downtime is not a concept Genji is unfamiliar with, but it’s one that he’s glad to experience again within the context of his work with Overwatch. It’s needed – is a time to rest and (more literally for some) recharge; Overwatch is yet piecemeal, its agents flung across the globe until called upon, but called upon they had been for a mission that had required more stealth than power.

Genji stretches languidly when he wakes, biolights flickering in a wave down his body as high-level processes are roused back into life from their dormancy in his slumber; he shifts to pluck the few charging cables he’s still tethered to from his frame, emerging partway from under the shelter of warm covers to feed them gently back into the portable maintenance unit sitting next to the futon. He doesn’t want to startle Zenyatta into wakefulness with the rattle of the wires back into their housing, so he takes care, cursing under his breath at the mild cold outside the blankets – the temperature isn’t terribly low, but there’s a discernable contrast between it and the warmth generated by a cyborg and an omnic in close quarters.

Genji settles back where he’d been lying just in time to see Zenyatta’s sensory array flicker sleepily, the blue lights on his forehead slowly brightening from their matchflame dormancy into perhaps half their typical luminosity. Genji makes himself comfortable once more, tugging the covers back into place, and waits for Zenyatta’s no-doubt sluggish diagnostics to complete, for its results to compile.

Zenyatta had accompanied him this last mission, acting as support for himself and Lena; though no-one had been injured, the sudden nature of the mission, Zenyatta’s already-low energy reserves, and the energy necessary to support two highly mobile agents had left him taxed enough to require charging overnight – while Genji could augment his energy requirements metabolically, Zenyatta could not, and the low pull skimmed off the grid to prevent the detection of the fledgling organization didn’t leave Zenyatta with much to utilize himself. It was a trickle where a steady stream was needed, but Zenyatta never complained. Genji reaches out to trace the line of one of Zenyatta’s faceplates with the backs of his fingers, and Zenyatta shifts at the contact, his lights flickering once more before dimming further.

“Are we to board our transport soon?” Zenyatta asks, and his voice is steady, if quiet. Genji laughs a little, stretches his arm further to hook fingers around the curve of Zenyatta’s cranial unit, checking on the status of the bundled set of cables plugged into a port set in the black inner body of the other. He trails his hand down slowly, in no great hurry, to do the same for the twin pair of heavy leads between Zenyatta’s shoulderblades, the thin handful of others that flank them, and then even further down to the thickest set of them all, jacked into a port set behind panels at the base of Zenyatta’s spine. All still hold fast, and Genji slides even closer to press a kiss to the cool metal of Zenyatta’s mouthslit, returning his hand to the swell of one of Zenyatta’s analogous hipbones.

“No. Transport’s not due until later, this afternoon at the earliest. The day’s still new,” Genji tells him.

Zenyatta makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, lights dimming even further. “Did you wake yourself?”

“Yeah. Still used to those early mornings.” Genji rubs his thumb against metal, fond slow little circles, and the upwards sweep of the motion catches the edge of one of the newer sensors Zenyatta has installed, one of the ones that had come from the same set of upgrades that –

“Hmm… pardon me, Master,” Genji says, apropos of nothing, and Zenyatta makes a questioning noise in reply, lights brightening slightly, before he quickly follows the sound with a more startled one as Genji slides his hand from his hip to the cleft of his legs.

“ _Genji_ ,” Zenyatta chides, but he doesn’t pull away or push Genji back, goes so far instead as to tip his hips into the cup of Genji’s fingers.

“How are your energy reserves?” Genji asks as he presses gently at Zenyatta’s modesty plating, smiling as it retreats.

“Sixty – mmm, Genji… sixty-three percent.” He shifts as Genji strokes over silicon, petting over the plushness of his pussy, thumbing at his clit, and rubbing circles over the head of Zenyatta’s cock where it’s barely emerged from its shelter in the omnic’s pelvis. “Genji – what are your intentions – ”

“Morning delight,” he answers cheerily, and Zenyatta makes a sound like a huff of laughter at his tone. “Can you manage? Because I want your cock, but not if it means I’ll have to carry you to the jet. Lena would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Incorrigible,” Zenyatta tells him, but it’s terribly fond, and Genji makes a noise of agreement, pushing himself even closer to slide his other arm under Zenyatta’s cranial unit. “Just one round, Genji. We cannot be late this afternoon.”

“Very responsible of you, Master,” Genji replies, tone laughing, but increases the pace of his fingers, lingering now over the swells of Zenyatta’s lower lips, caressing their exterior and the other’s clit. “Grab my faceplate for me? No, don’t get up. Let’s just – ” and there’s a soft set of muted rings like muffled bells as the neat pyramid of Zenyatta’s orbs stacked next to the futon topples, the motion pushing Genji’s faceplate close enough for the other to reach. “Good. Put it on me?”

“You have two hands, Genji,” Zenyatta says, to which Genji smiles.

“Oh, I know. But they’re currently both occupied, so if you would oblige me, my dear fūrin – ”

“Lazy,” Zenyatta rebukes gently, even as he carefully rethreads the tines for the oxygen line back into Genji’s nose when the other tips his head down at him.

“It _is_ one of the best parts of morning delight,” Genji tells him, mock serious, and then pushes a finger into Zenyatta’s warmth when the other regards him somewhat dubiously. Zenyatta jolts, then stills, moaning, and Genji pushes and pulls experimentally a few times before removing his finger entirely, rubbing the pad of it against his thumb, evaluating.

“Mmph – Genji, what – ?” Zenyatta starts, lights flaring up near to full brightness; Genji shushes him with the lingering stroke of a thumb against the wires at the nape of the other’s neck.

“Just had a thought – here, can you sit up?” and Zenyatta goes willingly enough at the gentle push from Genji’s hands, compliant despite the caution of his movements; his leads made him top-heavy, cumbersome, but Zenyatta manages and Genji threads one of his legs between the slender, sweet arches of Zenyatta’s thighs and tugs at his hips, urging him to sit back down.

Zenyatta, bless his soul, understands Genji’s intent the moment his augments make contact with the flex and heat of the other’s thigh, and Genji barely has to urge him into a thrust, Zenyatta starting a gentle, slow rhythm all on his own. “Get my cock for me, fūrin?” Genji asks this time, and Zenyatta makes a clicking noise much like the disapproving _tsk_ of a tongue but does so, wrapping broad fingers around Genji’s length when it emerges.

Genji lets him stroke once, twice, before shifting his hands to lace his fingers with Zenyatta’s all mismatched flesh-metal-carbon. Zenyatta rolls his hips, dragging the hot softness of his cunt against Genji, but makes a quizzical noise even as he continues to move.

“I believe your logic has eluded me this time, my hope,” Zenyatta tells him.

Genji smiles, knowing Zenyatta will catch it in the curve of his eyes, and answers, “You’ll be fucking me here, after you cum.” He lets go of one of the other’s hands long enough to lower it to his crotch, sliding fingers and the palm of his hand across the expanse of his highest innermost thighs and the artificial skin between his legs, the smooth length just underneath his cock. “So come on. Get me nice and _wet_ , Zenyatta.”

The other says, “Oh,” very softly, lights flickering rapidly, and Genji grins wide enough to bare his teeth when he feels a surge of hot slickness against his thigh. Zenyatta’s cock bobs, and he redoubles his movements, understanding now and chasing his pleasure for it; Genji tangles fingers with him again, flexes and pushes up against Zenyatta, increasing the pressure.

“It’s too bad we don’t have any toys,” Genji remarks absentmindedly, eyes flicking from the rocking rut of Zenyatta against him up to the other’s face and then down again. “Or more time and energy. I would have loved to see how quickly you’d fall apart with a dick stretching open your cunt and your cock between my legs, Zenyatta-kun.”

Zenyatta shudders fullbodied, pace hitching, and Genji bounces his knee for it, teasingly reprimanding as the motion jolts Zenyatta where he hangs; the wet slap of his thigh hitting Zenyatta’s cunt is obscenely loud in the quiet room, and Zenyatta’s fans whir into life as Genji bites his own lower lip, tightens his grip on the other’s hands.

“Oh – _Genji_ – you cannot just _say_ things like that,” Zenyatta starts, then cries out when Genji does it again, the parting of their contact drawing out fine strands of lubricant between Zenyatta’s lower lips and Genji’s synthetic skin.

“C’mon, fūrin. Just a little more, yeah?” and Zenyatta nods helplessly and makes a little sound of desperation as he arches his spine and cants his hips forward in order to grind his clit against Genji, it a point of slippery heat. Zenyatta moves, cumbersome with his wires but persistent, and Genji holds both of his hands and pushes up up up and Zenyatta comes all rattling shudders, the sensory array on his forehead flaring bright before extinguishing unevenly, haphazardly dimming each light disorganized as Genji feels the rippling of his cunt and the pulse of his clit against him.

Genji hums, warm fondness filling his chest as the other sags, weight settling fully on his thigh; he resists the urge to flex, to rub, to tease any further, because he has the prize he wants and the plan he intends to execute to get it. So he waits – waits until Zenyatta rouses himself, mechanisms turning over in his chassis and fans whirling, to say, “One more leg, Zenyatta.”

The omnic groans and returns half-heartedly, “And what happened to laziness, my hope?” but raises himself to his knees despite his words, legs splayed wide as they brace, waiting for Genji to reposition himself.

Genji smiles even as he shifts. “Indulge me?” He bites his bottom lip, humming appreciatively in the back of his throat when Zenyatta lowers himself once more, settling against him almost blood-warm and so slick in his pleasure. “I’ll treat you next time. Lay you out and eat my fill, fuck you on my tongue and fingers until you can’t form words – Tekhartha Zenyatta, so wise and guiding with his koans and dogma, speechless save for my name – ” Zenyatta makes a sound like he’s been struck, gasping with it even as his array flares brighter. “I know you like my mouth – called it ‘clever.’”

“ _Ah_ – certainly too _smart_ – ” Zenyatta starts, then arches his back, shaking, when Genji pushes his leg up against him, pressing hard against sensors already primed for input, heady with the sight of Zenyatta’s face tipped towards the ceiling, the flex of the hands he’s holding. “Genji – !”

“Just a little more, fūrin, then your cock.” Genji breathes in, breathes out, watching the other. “Mmm… c’mon, Zenyatta. Just a bit more.”

Zenyatta shakes with it, but he obeys, starting the motion of his hips slow and tentative before finding his rhythm once more; his fans whirl as a constant background hum and his hands clasp Genji’s so _tight_ , but he moves, and Genji murmurs, “You are so lovely, Zenyatta,” to him, eyes drinking up the sight, feeling the weight and heat of the other against the meat of his thigh, all silicon and hard edges and _his_.

He feels the spirit that makes his bones its home stir underneath his skin, resonate with his want; he _wants_ to see Zenyatta utterly destroyed by his pleasure as he fucks the clutch of Genji’s thighs, _wants_ to see him shuddering and speechless and slack with Genji’s fingers buried in his wires and Genji surrounding him, filling him up inside and out. He only has Zenyatta for so long, these moments that he claims for himself from the being that has devoted himself to the rest of the world so wholly, and Genji is only a man and _wants_ –

But no. He wants Zenyatta tired out, not bedridden; that, perhaps, will be left for later, that later that Genji has already promised the other. Genji breathes in. Swallows. Pushes the _want_ back.

Instead, Genji watches Zenyatta rock on him, dragging the hot plushness of himself up and down artificial skin, hums soft and lets go of Zenyatta’s hands to wrap his own about the slimness of the other’s waist, threading his fingers between the pistons that allow Zenyatta’s articulation; it’s such a trim span in comparison to the flare of the other’s pelvis, the jut of his chest, inevitably draws Genji’s eye. He digs fingertips into the material of the black inner body that covers Zenyatta’s most-vital workings, moves with the other, calling out soft encouragements until he judges himself slick enough, until he can feel a fine tremor running through Zenyatta’s frame.

“Fūrin,” Genji says, and shifts one thumb to pet at the length of a wire that emerges briefly over the other’s abdomen.

Zenyatta makes an inquisitive noise – or, tries to; his first attempt comes out just a little static-riddled, enough so to obscure its questioning tone. Genji can’t help but smile at it, impossibly fond, and Zenyatta reaches out and down to tap between Genji’s eyes reprimandingly. “Yes, Genji?” he manages clearly, overly dignified, and Genji can’t help but laugh in response. Zenyatta’s lights flicker similarly, sleepily brightening and dimming.

“You can slide off now if you’d like,” Genji tells him, and Zenyatta exhales, unnecessary, as he shudders to a halt. He must be tender, thrumming with it, because he moves slowly, piecemeal, like he’s been wounded and clumsy from it, but Genji steadies Zenyatta’s dismount, withdraws his leg and helps Zenyatta settle solidly on his heels. Genji props himself up on one elbow just to _look_ even as he presses his own thighs together, performing a little shimmy and wriggle of his hips that smears Zenyatta’s lubricant all across his skin: Zenyatta’s fans whir; and he watches Genji move with avid, rapt absorption; and his cock juts out hard and leaking, the underside of it slick from both his own eagerness and the prior drag of it against Genji when he’d been frotting against his leg.

Genji lines up his thighs. Hooks an arm underneath his knees, lifts his calves, twists his spine, and then adopts a coquettish air, using his free hand to beckon Zenyatta closer with one crooked finger. “The stage is set. Do you feel titillated, Zenyatta?”

“I mostly feel tired,” Zenyatta answers, tone dry, but he is moving all the same, shuffling closer to lay Genji’s crossed ankles over one shoulder. Genji slides his free hand between them and finds Zenyatta’s cock, guides it to the slick, sweet space at the apex of his thighs, and pouts.

“At least tell me I’m pretty! I’m feeling very unappreciated here, Master,” Genji returns, then yelps when Zenyatta shifts to squeeze Genji’s ass with both hands.

“You are an absolutely breathtaking vista, Genji,” Zenyatta tells him; then he adds, more quietly, “And there are no words for the blessing you are upon my life. My dearest and most-beloved.” He groans as Genji slides fingers around his cock, gently tugging him closer, and his lights dim precipitously, nearly all the way down to their dormant levels. “And you will be the death of me if you keep that up, Genji. I won’t be able to satisfy you.”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” Genji returns, then hisses and hums as Zenyatta finally presses close, pushing into the generous clench of Genji’s thighs. “I like what pleasure makes of you, Zenyatta,” and he does not move his hand, not really, just shifts his fingers where they’re trapped between them and feels them slide home, slippery-smooth through to the space behind Zenyatta’s cock and even further, against the fever-hot little nub of Zenyatta’s clit and the plushness of his lower lips.

Zenyatta makes a sound at the contact that is more the grind of metal against metal, the scream of a radio’s static than words, and buckles, his legs briefly losing strength before he catches himself. It takes the snap-crack of two tries before Zenyatta’s voicebox finally manages, “ _Genji_ ,” coherently, and then he is repeating it over and over again as a desperate litany. His hips shift and thrust, and Genji can feel the warmth of Zenyatta’s dick where it burrows against synthetic muscle and scarred skin alike, flexes his thighs just to see Zenyatta’s lights flicker.

He does not move away his hand, presses it against the give of Zenyatta’s augments instead, watches as the other comes apart at the seams, unraveling underneath the weight of his pleasure. “You’re doing so well, fūrin,” he calls out. “That’s it, Zenyatta, just a little more – ” and then he huffs out a breath as Zenyatta’s hips smack against his ass, as Zenyatta desperately clutches at Genji’s knees and braces himself with a hand pressed against Genji’s lower belly as he fucks Genji’s thighs. Genji arches his back at the jostle, slips his fingers from between the press of their bodies, and then wraps it around his own cock, pulling once to gather the next upwelling of slick from within himself, but lets go.

Genji pushes himself up on one elbow and folds himself in half as he presses his wet fingers against the seam of Zenyatta’s mouthslit, pushes them _in_ , and Zenyatta gives him it, allows the intrusion, and gasps when his sensors finally parse what Genji is feeding him; Zenyatta manages half of Genji’s name before his systems lock up, failures cascading, the syllable stretched out as a keen as his array flares incandescent in a brilliant bloom, his hips freezing where they push; and Genji watches his lover come undone, hums pleased as he feels Zenyatta’s cock twitch and spend where it’s trapped, adding to the mess between his legs, grins with his eyes half-lidded as both the noise and the light cut off as abruptly as if a plug had been pulled.

Zenyatta crumples, limbs going slack, and Genji twists and pushes himself up the rest of the way to catch him. He holds him against his chest and, for a moment, there is nothing but the sound of Genji’s own eager breaths; then Zenyatta’s fans kick back on and his array kindles once more into its dimmest matchhead glow. Genji murmurs, “Zenyatta,” even though he knows the other won’t hear him yet, shifts to lay him down in the sheets, and pillows the side of Zenyatta’s head on one of his thighs. He wraps a hand around his cock, lazily jacking himself off as he waits, his free hand swapping between splaying possessively across Zenyatta’s chest, his analogous collarbones, and sliding between his own thighs to feel the way their slick has mingled against Genji’s skin.

He does not have to wait long. Zenyatta’s torso clicks underneath the pads of his fingers, mechanisms turning over, and his voicebox pops once, twice, before his array brightens incrementally. “Gen...ji,” he thrums, and Genji moans and laughs in response.

“I’m here, fūrin, I’m here.” Then, “I’m close – your mouth; I want your mouth, can – ” and then Genji is scrambling inelegant, after Zenyatta chirps and hums, “ _Yessss_ , “ with the sibilance bleeding into static. Genji shifts in place, slides his knees further apart, thumbs the weight of Zenyatta’s jaw out to widen the gap between his faceplates, and Genji shoves himself in, clumsy with his eagerness, groaning as he feels himself slide past neat rows of glass-domed sensors, tiny intake valves and further, into the tube that leads to Zenyatta’s internal storage. It is warm, from Zenyatta’s own exertions, and slick, from the nanite suspension and the lubricant used to assist the intake of samples, and Genji curses as he holds Zenyatta’s head in both hands gently, reverently, and _uses_ the omnic’s mouth, fucking in mercilessly for how it had been designed to take more damaging substances than the easy silicon length of Genji’s dick. Zenyatta moans with it, with the information no-doubt lighting up his abused circuits, and the shiver of it through his slack frame and the sensation of the texture of the inside of his mouth and the faint gleam between the sweet, swooping arches of his thighs of where the pleasure of his overload had soaked the metal down almost to the joints of his knees is _enough_ , makes Genji bury himself as deep as he can go and cum, dick flexing inside, down Zenyatta’s throat.

 

After, he slumps over Zenyatta, catching his breath, blood pounding in his ears; he swallows once, twice, blinks to clear the afterimages of green scales and the memory of the snarl he had made from his throat, and rasps, “Zenyatta – you alright, fūrin?”

Zenyatta makes a two-tone noise of assurance and contentment that thrums against the pads of Genji’s fingers where he still holds his head in his hands. When he makes as if to sit up, Genji hushes him. “Shh – relax. I’ve got you; I’ve got you. It's alright. How are your power levels?” Then he smiles and strokes at the seam of the other’s faceplates as his cock leaves Zenyatta’s mouth, the motion breaking the thin thread of green-blue slick that had come with it. “Messy.”

“Forty-seven percent.” And then, “And who is responsible for said mess?” which makes Genji laugh.

“Yes, yes, I am to blame.” He sighs as he shifts his weight, settling Zenyatta’s head back on the cushions of his thighs. “I promise, I will take responsibility.” And he will, in loving exchange, so Zenyatta can rest, will wipe them both down and check Zenyatta’s leads and settle them both back in fresh sheets. Will set an alarm, so they don’t miss their transport. Will doze off with his arm tucked underneath Zenyatta’s head, his hand pressed against the small of his back, warm in their close quarters.

But that will be later. Because, in this moment now, mischevious, smiling, Genji folds himself down over Zenyatta once more. Tells him, tongue light with mirth over the formal Japanese, “ _Thank you for all your hard work_.”

“ _Genji!_ ” Zenyatta scolds, but he is laughing even as he says it, and Genji’s smile breaks out into a grin as he laughs as well. “Oh, heavens – very well, then. You are welcome. And I am in your care. Please do treat me kindly.”

And Genji, chest warm, replies, “Of course.”


End file.
